Cute Without The E
by comet80
Summary: Stan Marsh hates love. Slash. Stan x Red Goth


**_I've literally spent a month or so working on this fic, and its probably the longest oneshot I've ever written. I'm extremly proud of this fic, and I stated it when I saw that there was a lack of Stan x Red Goth, I istantly decided to write this oneshot. I'm using the names that are used the most in the fandom because the more I worked on this, the more the names seemed to fit. It is also a sequel, which I actually finished before this one._**

**_Disclaimer: Don't _****Own, Don't sue. I also don't own the song**

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Cute Without The E

Hate.

It was a four letter word he's heard from countless of people. Cartman told him that he hated him all the time, his sister said the words when she was mad, friends when they were angry. But he never thought the words were ever true. Well, maybe from Cartman.

It started off small. Shelley came home from college one weekend because their parents had "big news." According to Stan, big news could be anything, after all his dad was a drama queen, and took just about everything to a more serious level than it was.

"Stanley, Shelley, your father and I have very big news," his mother said carefully.

Whatever it was, Stan was sure it wasn't as important as his parents thought. After all, big news could be anything from "we're going away for the weekend" to "we're thinking of moving to another part of town."

"Now, your mother and I both love you both, but sometimes in a marriage, it doesn't work the way things were planned."

"What your father is saying is we're getting divorced."

Shelley rolled her eyes and punched her younger brother in the arm. "Way to go, Queer-O. Mom and Dad saw you sucking face with your **C**_boy_friend in the basement."

"I do not!" Stan protested loudly. "It's not my fault!"

"Stanley honey, you know it's not you. It's not your fault. Your father's just made some immature decisions lately and it's best if we aren't living together for a while."

"Oh…" Stan wanted to say something more intelligent, something thoughtful, or just anything but "oh." But he couldn't manage to say anything.

It was the start of the worst possible summer ever.

If Kyle wasn't traveling outside of South Park, than Stan really would have called him more than he did. He really would have, if Kyle wasn't traveling outside the country.

Stan sent him a text message a few days after the "big news" and Kyle called later that night. Stan told Kyle everything, and when the minutes ran out on the long distance calling card, Kyle hung up and said he'd talk to Stan when he would come back in a few weeks.

Kyle probably should have come back sooner, Stan thinks; if Kyle were back sooner, than Stan wouldn't have been left packing boxes in his room alone, being interrupted by his mother and sister yelling up and down the stairs every twenty minutes.

It turns out the "little while" his parents used to explain the possible outcome wasn't the outcome Stan was hoping for. His mother went to get the papers to finalize the divorce, making the divorce permanent.

With the divorce permanent, his mother explained that staying in a house with such memories is too painful, and decides to have the family move to a smaller house a few blocks away across town. With Stan constantly moping, his mother decides to try and turn the situation into a positive one.

"Just think Stanley, now you have the opportunity to get new furniture and decorate the room anyway you'd like!" His mother exclaims as the last of the boxes were loaded into the car. Stan just shrugs at his mom and gets into the back seat of the car, arms folding across his chest. He shoves the ear buds into his ear and watches the scenery fly by. The ride's hardly ten minutes, but to Stan it feels like hours have flown by, and the old house was too far in the past.

He doesn't even know where his dad is staying at, but he's sure it's probably a small apartment, and not some crappy house he doesn't want to be in. Stan knows the house isn't really all that bad looking. Sure it's a one story house with a smaller yard in some cheesy looking community, but it isn't all that bad of a place.

Stan's mother keeps her promise, and lets Shelley and Stan pick the rooms they want in the house. Naturally, Shelley goes for the second largest room, leaving Stan with the smallest room of the house. Stan doesn't mind, and doesn't even _care_ really. After all, it's just a room.

Stan leaves his walls blank, not knowing what he wants to do with his room. He leaves everything in boxes still, not feeling like unpacking. He doesn't feel this stay is as permanent as his mother says, and doesn't bother with the boxes.

When Kyle comes back home from his trip almost a month and a half later, he notices Stan is different. Well, not entirely different. He still looks the same with his semi neat long hair and t-shirts and jeans. The only thing Kyle notices that is different about Stan is how he's almost, _emotionless_.

Kyle shrugs it off; after all it's probably only temporary. Divorce does things to people, and Kyle is pretty sure Stan will be normal again soon. Well, Kyle _hopes_ Stan will be normal again soon.

Kyle's wrong. Stan's been acting weirder and weirder as the days came closer to the school year. At first, Kyle didn't mind Stan's mood, and was pretty sure it was going to pass. By week three however, Kyle was sick of Stan.

Stan used to be fun. Stan used to love him for everything he was, and vice versa. Stan and Kyle used to be best friends slash boyfriends and everything went great. A small part of Kyle was hoping Stan would be back to normal again soon, but by week four Kyle knew that probably wasn't going to happen.

So he ended it.

"_Stan, we need to talk."_

"_What?"_

"_Stan, i-it's not you it's me. Well, actually it _is _you and not me."_

"_What is it Kyle?"_

"_You're acting like those fucking Goth kids again! I know your parents divorced and everything, but seriously dude! Life goes on, and you just gotta keep moving!"_

"_My parents broke up, how do you want me to be, happy?"_

"_You can be upset! But you don't have to act like the world ended. I'm sick of it Stan!"_

"_Sick of what?"_

"_Sick of you!" Kyle shouted. "I mean, I think it's best if we break up. I can't be with some pussy-fag. Even Butters has more balls than you."_

"_So this is it," Stan said softly," it's over? Just like that?"_

"_Yeah, come back if you grow some balls. Or rather, don't come back at all."_

That's when it took a nosedive, and went downhill.

It was the week before school started, and Stan took his mother's idea. He decides to decorate his room. After a visit to the local hardware store, he returns with black paint, and before his mom and sister can come home from shopping, his walls were already pitch black.

School starts soon, and after sending Shelley back to college, it leaves Stan and his mom left alone in the house.

Stan's mom tells him to clean up before school starts, and Stan does just that. He goes through all his old clothes and throws out the cheerful looking ones, getting rid of the past, and everything he thought he knew.

He goes to school the next morning in a black t-shirt and black skinny jeans. He meets Kyle at the bus stop, but Kyle doesn't look over. Cartman snorts; then just laughs at Stan. Stan gets on the bus and opts for the seat farthest from Kyle, and shoves the ear buds back in his ear.

When everyone arrives at school, Cartman and Kenny walk over to Stan to ask what happened, but Kyle interjects.

"Stan's a pussy," he announces, and Cartman just nods in agreement and walks away. Kenny just looks over at Stan, and then follows along with the rest of his friends.

Stan goes to class, and just takes the seat in the farthest corner of the class room. He doesn't want to be seen, nor does he want people to see him.

At lunch, instead of going to sit where he always sat, he goes outside behind the bleachers, where all the other outcasts are sitting. Stan walks up to the group painted head to toe in black and announces his decision.

"I want to be Goth."

They turn their attention towards him as the leader speaks up. "If you want to hang with us, you have to dress like us, and listen to the same music we do."

Stan nods his head, and is offered a cigarette. He takes it, and places it in his mouth as the girl speaks up.

"Aren't you that conformist Marsh boy that left us years ago?"

Stan bites his lip and hesitates before nodding his head. "Was. My parents divorced at the end of last year, and then my boyfriend broke up with me," he states, and they nod their heads.

"Ouch," was all dark haired girl named Henrietta says.

"Wasn't your boyfriend that Broflovski kid? Kyle?"

"Conformist," Stan mutters and inhales on the cigarette smoke. "He's all about making good grades and getting in to a good college. He's a zombie racing to his grave."

"Yeah," the Goth kids all respond in agreement.

Stan skips the rest of his classes that day and goes to Denny's after school for Coffee. He listens to each member bitch about their family and life, taking sips on the dark coffee as they did so. He explains his situation to each member of the Goth kids and they all agree and accept Stan back into their group.

"Just don't run away this time," the red haired Goth says, flipping his long bangs out of his eye.

Stan gives the boy a small smile, remembering him from last time. "Dylan?"

"It's Thorne," the boy explains. "Dylan's the name of a conformist wannabe my mother wishes she gave birth to."

"…'Kay." Stan doesn't know what else to say.

"We're all going to a show on Friday in Denver," Henrietta states. "It's not a big band, since they're not conformists by signing to a mainstream record label. Meet us here after school, or we're leaving without you. It's an eighteen and over club, so you'll need a fake ID."

Stan nods in agreement, but confused at the last part. "Where do I…?"

"Alley way behind Tom's Rhinoplastery. You'll need twenty. Don't bring anything with you except the money."

Stan agrees again. "Right, twenty, nothing with me."

"One more thing," the tallest of them all says. "You look like a conformist."

Stan nods his head one last time before they all part to go home for the night. He knows he _looks_ like a conformist. He knows that, and he was just waiting until the right time to fix that.

Tonight.

His mother's gone at night for her new job, and while she's away Stan knows what he wants to do. He goes into his older sister's room, and cringes at the brightness and conforming pop stars that plaster the walls. He pulls out a pair of scissors and sits down at his sister's vanity.

Stan combs the hair over his eyes before he makes the first cut. He's careful to not poke his eye when he cuts, and hesitantly makes the first snip. He finishes off right before his mom gets home from work and throws the scraps of hair in the nearby wastebasket.

He pulls his black beanie down over his newly butchered locks as he goes out the door, not bothering to tell his mom where he's going. He fingers the twenty dollars in his pocket as he heads down to the alley way behind Tom's Rhinoplastery and waits for whoever he's looking for.

He notices a dark shadow appear and slowly goes over to the hooded figure. He listens to the muffle voice asking him what he wants, and Stan takes in the voice.

"Kenny?"

"Stan?" The shadowed figure asks. "What're you doing here?"

"Are you-are you the one selling…?" Stan's voiced trailed off, not wanting to be so loud.

"Yeah, what do you need?"

"A-an ID," Stan stutters a bit, not sure how he should feel about his old friend doing such a deed.

"Sure," Kenny says fumbling around in his pocket for something, before handing Stan a card. Stan quickly hands him the twenty and Kenny declines. "No. Think of this as an early birthday present. It's on me, Stan. Save your money for something else."

"Well, uhm," Stan didn't know how to react and searched for words. "Thanks?"

"No problem, now go before we get caught!" Kenny disappeared into the night as Stan looked down at his card. The guy looked similar to him in a way, maybe with neater hair and a mustache, but it looked like him. He put the ID in his coat pocket and heads home.

The next morning before Stan heads out, he quietly aligns his eyes with eyeliner and walks to school. He meets the rest of the Goths at their usual spot and grabs a cigarette from the pack, smoking alone with them.

He doesn't speak when he greets them, and they just look up to acknowledge his existence. Stan joins them on the wall with a cigarette between his fingers, taking a drag every few minutes, watching the smoke rise from his cigarette. After an hour of silence and taking drags on cigarettes, Henrietta breaks the silence with a question.

"Did you do it?"

"Huh?" Stan questions as he wakes up from being half asleep. It takes a minute for the question to register before he looks up to answer with a nod of the head. "Oh yeah. Yeah, I did. I got it."

"So you're going then?" The boy with the red roots asks with a smirk.

"Y-Yeah," Stan stutters. "I am."

"Good. Georgie just said he can't go; you'll take his spot when we go."

"Take his spot? Where?"

"Hotel," Henrietta explained. "No way in hell am I driving back that late at night."

"We split the costs," the tallest one explained. "It's easier that way."

"What do you mean, easier?"

"You'll see," Dylan said with a smirk. "Have you even been on a road trip, Marsh? Not one of those conforming family trips, but a real road trip."

Stan shook his head. "Not really."

"Then you'll understand when you get there," was all he said.

The weekdays came and went, and even if the Goth kids never showed it, Stan could tell they were excited. At least, excited in the most nonconforming way excitement could be.

Friday afternoon eventually came, and skipping the afternoon classes once again, they all went into Henrietta's car. The ride to Denver wasn't anything like a stereotypical road trip you'd see on movies. The ride was quiet, talking only when necessary, and smoke filling the car.

They arrived at the club moments before the first act went on. Handing over the fake ID's, the Goth kids entered the smoke filled room with all the other kids fitting the Goth stereotype. The music was dark and depressing, each line filled with tons of dark emotions.

No one was dancing wildly, just looking at the floor and taking drags on their cigarettes. The older kids were at the bar; drinking away at the pain they felt, listening to the depressing messages in the background.

The concert ended an hour and half later, and after a trip to Denny's, they all headed to the cheap motel they were going to stay at. It was late, and due to last minute check in, they had to get two separate rooms since the only rooms left had one bed per room.

How they picked who was rooming with whom, was a chore in its self. Usually Henrietta would room with the youngest Goth, usually because he was the easiest to room with, and the one with the least amount of hormones.

Not to mention that the other two were some of the wildest sleepers Henrietta has ever met. They never stay still and talk and moan in their sleep. Out of the two she'd prefer to room with, Dylan was the last choice.

Henrietta wasn't stupid. She was anything _but_ stupid. She knew Dylan had an interest in Stan, or as he liked to call him, "Raven." She knew he'd never openly admit to having the conforming emotion called love. None of them ever admit to being in love or having crushes. It was unspoken of, unless it was extremely serious.

Henrietta knew Georgie couldn't come this weekend. She knew he had to be at something he was dreading. He was forced to go to a family event he couldn't get out of if he tried, which he did many times, which was why Henrietta was almost glad when Stan came back to their group.

Well, almost glad. As long as Stan doesn't get convinced by that stupid asshole again that being Goth made him a pussy and convinced him out of it. She hoped she never had to go through that again. That, being dealing with the aftermath of losing Stan from the group.

She didn't mind so much, the only person who really seemed hurt by the loss was Dylan. He went out of his way to accept Stan into the group again after what happened when they were kids, and she hoped she never had to witness Dylan's "break up" mood swings. It took almost ten cups of coffee before he was considered back to his normal self.

Henrietta handed Stan and Dylan their keys to their room. "Looks like you and Thorne are rooming," she said to Stan. "Have a good sleep." She smirked, as the words came out of her mouth like poison.

"What does she mean?" Stan asked as the red haired boy shrugged.

"Who knows," he replied following Stan into the small hotel room."She's fucking crazy sometimes. She keeps telling me that you-never mind," he added quickly.

Stan sat on the bed taking off his shoes. "That I what?" Stan asked, pulling off his shirt. He took the underside of the black shirt using it to wipe off his eyeliner. "You can tell me, I-I won't mind, I promise."

"Nothing," he snapped, going into the bathroom to wipe off his eyeliner. He comes out a moment later and sits on the bed next to Stan.

Stan gawks at the boy, studying how his red roots are peeking through the black dye. Stan takes in the bags under his eyes, where the eyeliner was once messily colored in on his pale skin. Stan looks at his pale, almost muscle less body, knowing the boy's never participated in any conforming sport whatsoever. He gazes into the icy blue eyes filled with hurt and pain, and wishes to kiss the pouty lips, but restrains himself from doing so.

After all, love is the most conforming emotion of all. For love brings happiness, and happiness isn't pain and suffering. Therefore, Stan swallows back the thoughts and looks down at the black converse lying on the floor.

"What are you looking at?" The other boy asks. "You've been staring at me."

"Nothing," Stan says quickly. "You just look," Stan wants to say how he looks good. How he looks gorgeous, handsome, _adorable _even. But instead he just adds, "Different. You look different without your eyeliner."

"Fucking asshole," Dylan curses, making Stan flinch. "That man's such a fucking asshole I want to rip out his balls and shove them up his own ass."

"What?" Stan asks. "Who did what? Who's an asshole?"

"My dad, that fucking asshole. Fucking Keith. Fucking Keith for giving Dad fucking ideas."

Stan's lost."What? Who did what?"

"My fucking conformist brother gave my fucking conforming dad the idea to send me to fucking conforming military school. Fucking hell," he slurs again.

"Why a military school? Stan asks.

"To become a conformist asshole like everyone else," Thorne mutters bitterly, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.

"Buy _why_?" Stan asks. "You're fine the way you are," he says softly.

Thorne looks up at Stan. "Raven? I-I mean Stan, do you really mean that?"

Stan gets closer to the boy. "Er, yeah, I guess. I mean, uhm," Stan's face turns bright red as the boy came closer, bringing his hand closer to Stan's. Stan gets redder as the boy gets closer, their hands almost touching. Stan looks at the boy's hand, how the nails are painted black, from the chip on the middle fingernail, right down to the three scars on the boy's wrist.

The boys scooted closer to each other, as Stan grabbed onto Thorne's hand gently. Thorne looked down at both of their hands. "Stan," he said, his low pitch voice squeaking in embarrassment. "I-," he started but didn't finish. He kept his mouth shut as Stan's lips collided with his slowly.

The kiss was rough, yet gentle in a way. Neither boy wanted to break away, but didn't know what the other wanted. They both broke apart after a minute, taking the time to stare at each other.

"We should get to bed," Thorne states, but Stan doesn't listen.

"I didn't know you had red hair," Stan says and tries not to think about Kyle's red hair. "Kyle had red hair…" He trails off, and Thorne pinches the bridge of his nose, a habit he was picking up from Stan.

"I'm not that fucking conformist," he snaps.

"I didn't say you where," Stan argues back. "I just said Kyle had red hair."

"Well I'm _not_ Kyle."

"I know," Stan says, and stares back down at the shoes on the floor. "I don't want you to be Kyle," he says quietly. "You're better than him."

"What did you say?" The boy asks, not bothering to flick the hair from his eyes.

"I said you're better than him," Stan repeats.

The boy sits patiently as Stan rants a little more.

"Kyle was always busy. Busy with school, with homework, with anything. Kyle never, I dunno, he never relaxed, never took the time to appreciate small things where as you, I dunno. You just…do."

"I'm not better than him, Stan. Don't you get it? I'm not better than him, and that's why my fucking asshole father's sending me away."

"When do you leave?" Stan asks softly, reaching over to run his fingers through Thorne's hair.

The boy doesn't flinch, letting Stan play with the fading strands of black hair. Stan tucks a hair behind the boy's ear, and kisses him again.

The boy blushes, this time not bothering to hold it back. He figures it doesn't matter, anyways. His friends knew he liked Stan, and they were going to know eventually of the conforming he'd be forced to do soon.

"When do you leave?" Stan repeats.

"Fucking asshole is making me leave over Christmas break. Merry Fucking Christmas."

"But _why_?"

"He's a fucking asshole that's pissed off I'm not a conforming jock like my brother."

"But why would _that_ send you away?"

Throne shrugs again. "Something to do with rebellion or some shit."

"Can't you do anything about that? Tell him no or something?

Throne bits down on his lip and shakes his head no and slowly curls up next to Stan in the bed. It doesn't take long before the two kiss again, each kiss more passionate than the first. Stan breaks apart eventually, letting the sweat cling in his hair. He watches the boy push his fading black hair out of his eyes and Stan can't help but give a small smile, one he can't force away.

Stan chews on his lip one more time looking over at the boy who's half asleep. "Throne?" He asks softly. "Thorne?"

"Yeah Stan," the boy says softly, one of the softest, most gentle voices Stan's ever heard him use. "What is it?"

"I think I may-"Stan starts, but Throne cuts him off.

"Stan, don't tell anyone, but I think I may like you," he says as soft as he can. He doesn't want anyone to hear or know about the emotions he could be feeling. After all, only conformist's fall in love.

Stan doesn't reply with anything but a kiss, making the other boys face turn scarlet. He doesn't need to ask the question again, he understands without words the answer to the question. After all, years of poetry reading and writing has made it easy for him to read between the lines, reading facial expressions, and knowing the difference between spoken words and thoughts.

"Really?" Stan asks, but is ignored.

"But you belong with Kyle," Throne says. "You like Kyle."

Stan bites back down on his lip and shakes his head. "Kyle…Kyle was… he was my best friend. More even, but best friends can't be lovers. But this time I can start over, a clean slate, a new chance, a new boyfriend."

"Long distance relationships don't work," he says. "Everyone thinks they're so fucking romantic, but they don't work, they never do. In a matter of months you'll be in South Park, and I'll be in the fuckin' conforming state of Utah, showering with naked men and getting my ass beat."

Stan lets out a laugh. "That doesn't sound half bad, actually."

"I can handle that," he says, forcing back his smile. "It's all the other conforming I can't stand."

"But don't you get breaks and holidays?" Stan asks, and Throne shrugs.

"My dumbass father's transferring his custody over to my bitch of a mom. Weekends with her suck ass, and with her dumbass husband being a drill coach at that fuckin' school, he got me in cheaper than normal. I won't step foot in South Park much, maybe once every few months."

"I-I don't mind," Stan admits. "I can handle waiting; I'm a pretty monogamous person."

"Don't wait for me Stan," Throne says. "When I'm here it's on, when I'm not, it's not. Don't turn your life into one of those fuckin' Lifetime movies and wait. Now shut the fuck up and let me sleep, Marsh."

Stan nods his head, pulling the covers up over their bare bodies. He gives the boy a kiss goodnight and falls asleep, only to be woken up hours later with coffee.

Stan and Dylan eventually meet up with the rest of the Goth kids as Henrietta gives Stan a smirk. "Sleep okay, Marsh?"

Stan looks over at his now-boyfriend and nods his head. "I don't see what you were complaining about, I slept fine."

The gang gets into the car to go back to South Park. This time the ride's not as quiet or awkward, well, it wasn't until Dylan admits something.

"I have something to say," he says, looking down at Stan's fingers intertwined with his.

"If it's about you and Marsh sucking face last night, we know," Henrietta says as she keeps her eyes on the road. "We don't care, either. Be with whomever you want, it doesn't matter to us."

"It's not that," Throne says looking straight ahead. "It's just that, I'm…moving," he says, and waits for the car to come to a complete stop. "I'm leaving South Park."

The car isn't stopped, but even without seeing their faces, he knows they're not shocked. "My asshole father wants me to conform," he says, and states finally what he's dreading. "He's sending me off to some fucking military school in Utah."

No one's surprised that his father was the one who was forcing him to go to military school. They all knew how his father was. They knew how his father idolized his jock-like older brother, and disliked everything that made his son all anti-conformist.

They all knew that one day in the future a parent would try and fight the kid, and send them away when they fear they would lose. They didn't know who the kid would end up being, and when Dylan said it was him, it made more sense than it did before.

No one said a word the rest of the car ride back after Dylan's announcement. No one really had to, the emotions were all similar, and everyone felt about the same. They weren't upset at what he was forced to do, nor were they angry. They didn't really know _how_ to feel.

They chose to ignore the emotions that came with the situation for the time being. After all, they had a whole semester before being forced to say goodbye. They didn't want to think about the future, and Stan didn't want to think of how to say goodbye when he's just finished his hello.

Stan hated to say goodbyes, and he wasn't going to let a boy he liked slip away that easily. He said he was going to do all he could, and he meant it. He's never had a long distance relationship before, but hell; Shelley has, so he figured it wasn't that hard.

He was determined to make the relationship work, and so far, it was going great. Everything was going as great as a nonconformist Goth relationship could go. The days were spent smoking where ever they felt like, going to nonconformist shows, drinking coffee—the usual Goth activities.

The days droned together, forming into weeks, the weeks forming into months. It wasn't long that winter break was starting, and the last of the days of pre-military freedom were spent with the rare fling of drunken sex, semi-conforming coffee from Tweak's, and the occasional non-depressive poem that was thrown out every now and then.

The last night broke every Goth rule Stan ever knew. The kissing was passionate, hair was tugged, and the sex was ten times better than usual. It was like birthday sex and Christmas sex all rolled into one package.

And the words that were said were so conforming, Stan felt touched to know that he was the cause of someone's life not sucking that bad. As the two drifted off to sleep together for the last time, Stan heard the soft mumble of a "love you" and witnessed the final closing of the eyes.

Watching his boyfriend leave was the hardest thing Stan ever had to do. The fact that the boy wasn't going to be back for a while bothered him in so many ways. Seeing his boyfriend in the miserable state he was in angered him in so many ways.

But what could he do?

In almost a blink of an eye, he watched his boyfriend disappear.

For weeks.

For months.

For days.

Forever.

But there was nothing he could do right now, he just had to move on.

For that's the price that's paid for love.

Stan Marsh fucking hates love.

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_**Reviews? Feedback is appreciated :D**_

**End.**


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